Two Gifts
by BlackQat
Summary: About the gifts Gabriel Lorca gave Kat Cornwell, when they were in their twenties at Starfleet Command Training School, and how, later, they were ripped away. "She noticed him the first day. How could she not?"
1. Chapter 1

**s**

 **NOTES:** _ **Trigger warning**_ _for non-con_ [past]; **I make no profit from this work** ; Star Trek belongs to CBS not me; so far as I know this idea/headcanon is mine alone and published earlier by me on ao3; there is some specific sexual content in chapter 4 you may find objectionable, but it's "vanilla." **Please leave comments** (they help me know what readers like and don't like in my stories so I can adjust accordingly); direct any constructive critcism to me via PM, thanks!

 **Chapter 1**

She noticed him the first day.

How could she help it?

She's 27 years old; he's 23. He's been on the starship Liu Yang for a year, in Operations, and come back with his CO's recommendation for the Command Training Course. She's attending as a newly minted Ensign just out of OCS at the Academy, a Federation-licensed Psychiatrist, who wants to serve on the medical staff of any forward Starbase or on any deep space starship.

He's sharing his analysis of the book they were assigned, Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_. He seems to approve. She isn't really hearing his whole presentation because she's distracted by his presence. And that baritone, mocha voice, deep and kind of sweet, with an overlay of acidity.

A confident walk, a good male mesomorphic form – almost like an ancient Greek Kouros – tall, broad shouldered. A handsome, chiseled face with blue eyes the color of tropical waters ... yadda, yadda,

yadda, she recalls her 11-year-old self and Mom saying "oh stop _swooning_."

Lorca's a classic, in other words, with a flashing smile that hints of devilment. It's the way it curves at one side of his mouth. Black hair with a bit that flops over at the front. And, lest it be forgotten, he has a _very_ fine ass.

 _Well, here at last, at age 27, is my first adult flowering of deep sexual desire._

Other women and some men are checking him out. But there are a number of quite handsome guys who are not Lorca. A few not so handsome, but they have other charms.

Lieutenant Junior Grade ["call them 'Lieutenant'"] Lorca's voice has a little Southern twang, which comes out more when he's challenged or stressed. They were in an accident simulation recently and he was droppin' Gs left and right. Inwardly she gives that _nngghhh!_ of desire when she hears it. "Dead sexy," she's heard at least one female say. _Okay, I'm just four years older. What the hell._

Herself, she doesn't feel so damn cute, or appealing. There are women here with perfect figures and incredibly beautiful faces, who are also brilliant. A few of them are friendly.

Yeah, she has thick brown hair with blonde and chestnut streaks, clear grey eyes that can shade to blue or hazel green, and good bone structure. She has a trim figure, which actually means very fit and slender, with small breasts.

And an overbite, which makes her shy of saying words with a pronounced S in them, because it comes out not so clearly but too soft. Not quite a lisp, but still. Her dad thought it was cute, but her stepmom would wince, or worse, say, "She Sells SeaSHells by the SeaSHore." Kat's getting over it at the Academy though, because "Starfleet," "star chart," "astronomical," and "some kind of" are pretty frequently used words here. She cannot show a lack of confidence in any way.

.

.

They're at a club off campus, a group of the Command Training Course officers celebrating the end of their first two weeks, Phase I, when Lorca sidles up to her at the bar. She's had some brief conversations with other people. One is a civilian who can't understand why an attractive woman would join Starfleet and leave all the prime male specimens of Homo Sapiens behind on Earth. "Guess you don't know much about the men in Starfleet, then," she smiles easily, and he departs in a huff.

Some cadets and officers stop to chat, and when they find out she's a psychiatrist, they are either embarrassed and find an excuse to leave, or they try to prove their own acumen at "reading people." Kat doesn't explain that it's not exactly what she does in her profession, it's merely one tool; she just nods solemnly with an occasional smile, as if she were acting in her professional capacity. Sometimes they tell her hair-raising stories and ask what the long-term effects of the accident, tragedy, or spectacular fall will be.

So Lorca's a breath of fresh air. Until he says, "You're a psychiatrist, right?" Those blue eyes, gazing at her.

Her stomach gets a flutter, and not in a good way. "Right. Yes. I am."

He nods and swallows some of his drink. "So that's why they call you 'Doc.'" He extends a hand. "Care to dance?"

She does. And it's fun, he's a good dancer, freer in the hips than she is.

They and go out for coffee afterward and chat for hours. They have similar views on the place of Starfleet within the body politic of the Federation; on leadership, on music, and both like history. He likes to run, and since she does too, they meet the next morning and run together. She's light and fast and he's bigger and long-legged, so they manage to keep a fair pace with each other. They begin dating, usually meeting for coffee on campus or in town, at Peet's, rowing in Golden Gate Park, or jogging on the beach. They go sailing on San Francisco Bay. Both are good at it. They share some light kisses, but Kat is shy about it, and Gabriel is sensitive to that, thank god he doesn't take it personally in a negative way.

One morning after a run, they arrive at the Bachelor Officer Quarters, about to split up to shower and change into their uniforms for the day, when he says, in a rush, "I booked a room in Bodega Bay for the weekend. Would you like to go with me?"

She's staggered for a minute and looks at him while trying to find words.

He blinks. "I mean, sorry, it's got two beds. I just ..." He looks down for a moment, getting up his nerve, then smiles a little, with a certain light in his eyes that's pure joy. "I think we'd have fun. There are great hikes, redwoods not far away, a beach to walk on when the tide is right, good restaurants, and a jazz club…." A long pause. "I'm being incredibly presumptuous to even ask, especially at the last minute. You could just tell me to fuck off."

"N-no," she squeaks. "Don't fuck off."

He cocks an eyebrow. She very nearly laughs at his expression, but looks up at the chrono on the wall and says, "I have to get moving, can we talk later?"

.

Up until now, they've called each other by their last names, as is customary in Starfleet between equals on a familiar footing.

" _Cornwell, wait up!"_

" _Where the hell have you been, Lorca?"_

" _I tripped!"_

But here they are, off the Academy for a three-day weekend, in foggy, chilly Bodega Bay, walking along a path at Bodega Head, with the mist in their faces, a fresh chill breeze with gusts, and ocean waves booming against the cliffs. She braided her hair at the room so she wouldn't have to keep swiping it off her face.

She looks at Lorca, just the longish top of his black hair ruffling in the wind, no hair whipping into his eyes, and thinks again about cutting her hair short. She wonders if he'd like it. She decides she likes it as it is, not only because it's easier to manage but because he seems to like it long too. A couple of weeks ago he said, "I like the colors in your hair. They really show up in the sun." He reached out a hand, and she willed herself to stay still as he touched it.

The wind here has come up and it's as noisy as the inside of a dance club. There's no bass beat, but a thrumming in the wind. She touches his arm and he turns toward her. "It seems weird to be here and not use first names," she says, loudly, just as the breeze lessens.

"Okay," he says in the same loud tone, and she cracks up. "Please call me Gabriel. Or Gabe."

"Don't call me Katrina. Just call me Kat."

They ramble a while and Kat realizes her hands are getting cold. She chafes them a bit and Gabriel notices, stopping, turning, and folding his big, warm hands around hers.

And it's okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**s**

 **NOTES:** _ **Trigger warning**_ _for non-con_ [past]; **I make no profit from this work** ; Star Trek belongs to CBS not me; so far as I know this idea/headcanon is mine alone and published earlier by me on ao3; there is some specific sexual content in chapter 4 you may find objectionable, but it's "vanilla." **Please leave comments** (they help me know what readers like and don't like in my stories so I can adjust accordingly); direct any constructive critcism to me via PM, thanks!

 **Chapter 2**

.

They're sipping coffee on the balcony outside their room. Kat takes a deep breath and says, "I'm surprised at myself for coming up here alone with you."

He frowns, then raises his eyebrows in a "why?" gesture.

"But for some reason, I trust you. I don't trust men, as a rule." A sustaining, long sip of coffee, and she continues. "I don't think I'm ready for any …."

He puts up a hand and shakes his head. "I didn't intend to seduce you this weekend." Smiling gently. "Though I'd like to, but only if you lead. I'm not a psychiatrist, but I read human body language pretty well, even at my tender age."

"Thanks," she says. "I want to be with you, but just platonically for now." Finally meeting his eyes. "I am really attracted to you. But, fair warning, I need time. Maybe a lot of time. I don't know right now."

"Okay," he says, and reaches out to take her hand as they finish their coffee.

Later, sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, watching the flames, Kat says, "I love this." They've been sitting close to each other but Gabriel lifts his arm, an invitation. She pulls his arm around her, snuggling into his side, her head on his shoulder. They're a perfect fit.

The weekend passes too quickly. They have reading to do for the CTC, but find time to hike the hills above the ocean, walk the tops of the cliffs, and go to visit the redwoods.

The mist is heavy there. Gabriel shakes his head, looking at the size of the trees. "And I thought we had big oaks in the South."

"This one is so big you could almost live in it."

They walk around it, arm in arm, and continue exploring the path through the tall trees. He leans back against one, gently pulling Kat toward him. As gracefully as she can, she extricates herself and looks over her shoulder, as if she might be flirting, but there's something odd about it that makes him stop and watch her carefully. She resumes walking, quickly, her face away from him. He catches up to her, but doesn't want to crowd her.

After hiking, they are ravenous, and they stop at an Italian place where the ravioli are so big there are only six per plate. The food is satisfying, and pretty decent. Not San Francisco dining, but good home cooking. Kat pours two glasses of table wine from a carafe. She lifts a glass. "Here's to hiking all day then eating well."

 _I love your smile,_ Gabe is thinking, and he nearly misses clinking glasses with her.

.

Monday the weather is blustery out, so they stay inside, with the fireplace. Kat lights a fire as expertly as Gabriel does. The warm gold light plays over the room as they sit comfortably together on the couch, reading the last of their assignments for tomorrow. They discuss the reading, and when they get to one point, Gabriel says impatiently, "That's bullshit."

"What about first contact protocols is bullshit?"

Gabriel springs up off the couch, facing her, enthusiasm for debate in his eyes. "That's not for the CO to do. It's what communications officers are _for_. They're _experts_ , they're not just there to be a CO-comms interface. Forfucksake, Starfleet Command really needs to change that." He paces, gesticulating. "Our communications officer on the Liu Yang has twelve languages, eight of them alien, and great facility with a Universal Translator. You still have to interpret some of the translations, with an understanding of what words mean in the particular culture, as modeled on similar cultures encountered previously. At least you have a running start that way. To put a CO whose specialty is Operations on a planet with just a UT is utter bullshit."

"But _xenoanthropoligists_ study cultures, not communications majors."

He whirls toward her, enthusiasm for debate all afire. "Want to bet?Comms majors headed for interstellar missions study cultural-linguistic commonalities. So Comms officers should be members of any first contact mission."

"You have a point," she says, and he raises his arms in a "victory!" gesture. "So introduce it, through your CO, to Starfleet Command."

He makes a face and flops onto the couch. "Oh. I did _that_ months and months ago."

"Fresh out of the Academy? No CO likes a smartass." She leans over to give him a kiss. "So I hear. Personally, I like your smart ass."

"I like yours too." He leans in, as if to kiss her, and she turns her face a little so it lands on her temple. Pretending he doesn't notice, he inhales deeply and says, "Your hair smells great."

Her arms slip around him. "You smell pretty nice yourself."

"It's my soap." He kisses the top of her head. "No, actually, it's all _me_. All the cadets say so. They follow in my wake, worshipfully sniffing the air."

She pulls away from him. "I _guarantee_ you will become a starship captain."

His brows go up in that way she loves. "Oh? Because of my sterling leadership skills?"

"No. Your _ego_."

"Ah, yes. It is the best, the finest ego in all the land."

She kisses his cheek. "I don't know about that, your ego's pretty far up there, but I think it's your _ass_ that is the finest in all the land."

"But asses don't make good ship captains."

"They don't?"

"No. Have you ever _met_ Captain Terral?"

.

The weekend passes too quickly.

They get back to the Academy just in time on Tuesday. Gabriel says, "I don't generally like rules and I hate arbitrary deadlines, but I've learned to get along with them in Starfleet." He looks at her and she meets his eyes. "All this by way of saying, I'd sure like to have had more time with you."

"Always thought you were the rebellious type. I wanted more time too." She takes his hand and holds it tight between both of hers. "But I'm glad we had the time we did."

After checking to see no one is watching, he raises her hand to his mouth and kisses it, and she bounces up to give him a brief, soft kiss, and they go to their respective rooms to change into uniform.

.

Next weekend is all simulations, designed to test the class members' tolerance of stress, thus requiring the sacrifice of Saturday and Sunday off, because most of the students are disgruntled to start with (except the three Vulcans). The Andorians and Tellarites, from less temperate races, are visibly ticked off.

During one simulation they each have to lead a brief conference in an urgent situation; a problem is presented, a team does quick research and proposes a solution. A Vulcan ensign presenting a solution begins explaining minutiae and everyone else exchanges subtle glances. One Tellarite, Gaveen, growls a little. Lorca, leading this conference, raises a hand in a casual wave and says, "Mister Solin, might I ask you to get to the point? If we want more details, we'll ask for them."

Solin says stiffly, "You may, Lieutenant Lorca. In answer to your _pertinent_ question … the ship will explode in 8.75 minutes if we do not repair the warp drive control relays at Juncture 110, section A2."

"Thank you. Let's get to work, people!"

.

Sunday they are still working at midnight. Lorca bends to speak into Cornwell's ear. "Would you like to take a break next weekend in Fiji or Hawaii?"

"Um." Again he's caught her by surprise. "I'll get back to you, Gabriel. This is taking every bit of concentration."

He nods at the chart she's working on and whispers so no one else can hear. "You're absolutely right until you get to grid mark Zulu 4-5."

"Oh, shit." She looks up into his mischievous eyes. "You aren't messing with me, are you?"

He whispers again. "No … but I am kinda breakin' the rules."

.

"Hawaii," she says on Monday.

"Good choice. Volcanoes, waterfalls and rainbows in the mist. Not to mention the surfing."

"And sailing, I hope."

He sketches a salute. "O Captain, my Captain. At your service, sir."


End file.
